A Small Mistake
by Disturbed Muffin
Summary: Who the hell sleeps in a graveyard anyways?


He ran. Bolted would have even been a better word. Ran didn't even sound fast enough to describe what he was doing. He could barely even feel how sharp breathing felt, or the sweat on his forehead-he just kept running until he reached his dumpster again.

Oh god, what had he done?

For all his time being a criminal, Graverobber had never actually _hurt_ anyone. Sure, he got into a few scuffles with people, and had to make a daring and somewhat violent escape from the GENEcops once in a while, but he'd never done any serious lasting damage on anyone. But now...

He heaved himself into his dumpster and shut the lid. There was no way they could trace him specifically to it, of course. He always wore his gloves, so there were no fingerprints. He cursed silently to himself when he realized he left his syringe there. He may not be the only grave robber, but he was _Graverobber_. He was the most infamous one. He would still be suspect number one, even if they couldn't technically tie him to it.

And that poor girl...

He swallowed, grateful for the heavy lid separating him from the rest of the world, which hadn't seen him convey anything other than his typical smugness for some time now. Years in fact. He certainly didn't want any customers showing up at that moment. Graverobber pulled the vials out of his bag and frowned; he'd bolted before he could get his usual supply. The scalpel sluts would not like that, and if any new people came along, he wouldn't be able to make his usual "first time's free" guarantee.

He'd have to go back out again.

Fuck.

Furious, but determined to not be a stinking coward, Graverobber kicked the lid back open with one of his heavy boots and leapt out of the dumpster. So what if he did something? Something awful, even? He was a criminal. A street dwelling, grave robbing, drug peddling criminal! Why should he feel sympathy for one little mistake?

"Uh...'scuze me....sir?"

Sir? Who the hell would call him 'sir'? Turning, Graverobber saw a kid, probably no more than 18. One of those androgynous types. Not that knowing the gender mattered when all he cared about was getting paid.

"Yeah?" he straightened his coat and looked down at the kid, who winced slightly.

"I just....I mean, I need...can I get some...some..."

"Zydrate?" Graverobber resisted the urge to roll his eyes. New customers were annoyingly awkward, but it was bad for business to come off rude.

"Yes, please. My sister told me you were the one to go to and that....the first time is free?"

Remembering the few vials in his bag, Graverobber sighed. He couldn't afford to do something like that until he was sure he had more as back up.

"Sorry, kid, you're going to have to come back tomorrow."

He tried to leave, but the kid grabbed his elbow. Graverobber paused and glared down at the kid, who let go will a small, high pitched noise and took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I just...I need it....now..." he took another step back, so that he was just out of arm's reach.

Graverobber sighed, "I'm not going to hurt you, kid."

"I brought money with me. Just in case," there was some fumbling in pockets, and then a whole wad of cash fell onto the ground. Picking it up, the kid held it out, "there. It's double your usual rate. Just...please....give me some."

Graverobber looked at the money and slowly arched an eyebrow. He'd be a fool not to take the money! Part of his brain was already preparing his hand to make a grab for it-

_...Shoving the needle up the nose...the shaking...eyes rolling back into her skull...choking....deep crimson filling the syringe instead of bright, glowing blue...the shaking stopping...._

Graverobber snatched the money from the kid and seized him by the collar in one swift motion. Then, without warning or even any of his usual cocky attitude, he whipped out the Z-gun, pressed it to the kid's neck, and pulled the trigger. The kid went slack instantly and Graverobber dropped him without another thought.

Snarl planted firmly on his face, he turned and headed towards the cemetery. This was his job, and he'd be damned if one little mistake would cost him.


End file.
